


Besaid

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A fan visits Gladio.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 20
Kudos: 45





	Besaid

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy X or XV or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He sinks another several centimeters, eyes on the prize, perfectly aligned, ready to pounce. The ball turns gently in the almost non-existent current, patiently waiting for him. Gladiolus treads backwards, a full arm’s length beneath the surface but strong enough for this—there’s still air in his cheeks, and pacing his breathing is half the battle: a baseline, necessary skill for every player. He gets _just_ far enough away for his shot to still be feasible. He might be underwater, but a running start still strengthens a blow, and he intends to send his blitzball flying all the way to the other side of Galdin Quay in one fell stroke.

Just when he’s about to bolt forward, movement catches his eye. It’s not unusual for fans to find him, even when he makes sure to jump out of whatever seaside hotel he’s at and swim to the secluded parts of the beach, rather than strolling down the sand. But given that it’s only one person and not a whole mob, he doesn’t think his entourage has found him yet. And his eyes have adjusted enough to the crystal-clear blue water to make out soft ash-brown hair and pale skin and the long, lean figure of a particularly handsome man. 

There are very few things in life Gladiolus prioritizes over blitzball. As hard as he plays, he works harder, and he’s completely dedicated to his career. But he forgets the ball in the wake of his biggest fan, and he breaches the surface, grinning hard when he sees he’s right.

To be fair, Ignis might not be the _biggest_ fan—at least, he’d never say so himself. He doesn’t run forward or wave or giggle behind his hands like the girls Gladiolus usually has to bat away in droves. Ignis gives a curt nod of greeting and stays right where he is, polished shoes just out of reach of the gentle tide. He’s not dressed for the beach, but never is when he miraculously shows up wherever Gladiolus is playing. He says he comes because his employer’s a big fan, and he never procures tickets for his own sake. But Gladiolus doesn’t see his employer next to him at the moment, or anyone else: just Ignis in all his glory, on a secluded section of the beach, lit up in the tropical sun like a vision out of Gladiolus’ wet dreams. 

Gladiolus swims right over. He doesn’t even pause to fetch his blitzball. He wades to the shore, walks out of the water, shakes all the little droplets off his dark brown mane and pretends to wipe off his chest, mainly just for an excuse to flex. He can see Ignis’ warm eyes following each little movement, catching on his broad shoulders and abs, even though he makes an effort of lifting back to Gladiolus’ face right after. Gladiolus can only hope the damage is done. He knows he looks _damn good_ , especially when he’s out of uniform and down to teeny-tiny swim trunks that barely hide his massive thighs. Then he’s right in front of Ignis and glancing at the little box held in two delicately gloved hands. With a wide smile, Gladiolus offers, “Want me to sign that for you, Specs?”

Ignis sniffs and lifts one hand to push his glasses up his nose. They’re sleek and stylish, like all of him, his hair brushed up today, which always makes Gladiolus want to kiss his exposed forehead. Or the bridge of his aristocratic nose. Or his high cheekbones or the point of his chin, or maybe even his soft bow lips that always look _so_ inviting.

It’s ironic, because Gladiolus knows darn well his contract thoroughly discourages bedding groupies. He’s usually not even tempted—he can get laid easily enough by slathering cover up over his tattoos and going out in a hat and shades, relying on his natural good looks instead of celebrity. Ignis is the one person who tempts him the most, and Ignis is also the only fan that never drops dirty hints and doesn’t swoon at the mere sight of him. Maybe that’s why Gladiolus wants him so badly.

Or maybe it’s that he’s even more ridiculously good looking and clever and speaks with that polished drawl like some uptight nobleman that Gladiolus desperately wants to debauch. The occasions where they have talked, running into each other behind the stadium or in the parking lot or even at a local grocery store, Ignis has always given fine conversation, is even _useful_ sometimes—he has a brilliant mind, and understands the game better than the most ardent players. He understands mathematics and physics, even the complex underwater parameters that govern the game. He’s given Gladiolus pointers on occasion, which Gladiolus usually scoffs at but later tries and loves. 

Which is precisely why it’s hard to believe he only watches for his boss. He looks Gladiolus right in the eyes and murmurs, “Good morning, Mr. Amicitia.”

“Gladio,” he offers for the hundredth time, because they might technically be strangers, but Ignis is no stranger in his daydreams. And he’s not a formal kind of person, anyway. “You got any tips for the big game tonight?”

Ignis minutely shakes his head, then pauses before reciting, “Unfortunately, I must confess I’ll have to miss it.” Gladiolus’ heart instantly sinks. Ignis has _never_ missed one of his games, not since they first bumped into each other at an Altissian market and Ignis turned bright red at seeing Gladiolus’ trademark Insomnia Eagles tattoo. He’s got the biggest one on the team, which he told Ignis with a wink, and then he added that he wasn’t just talking about his ink. “We were planning on it, but I’m afraid my employer’s been recalled to the capital for an important council meeting.”

“And you have to go with him,” Gladiolus dully recites, as though there’s any chance in hell Ignis is about to betray his job for a sporting event. 

Ignis frowns. “Of course.” But then he glances down to the box in his hands and lifts it up—a black rectangle with a metallic clasp on the front. “But I... I hope this isn’t too presumptuous of me...” He actually falters for a moment before straightening out and continuing confidently, “I noticed you tend to eat junk food before a match. Given how hard you work yourself, you really should eat better. More vegetables and whatnot. But I know it’s hard when you’re busy to make proper meals, so... I made you lunch. A healthy lunch.” He adds the last part like it excuses it, like that makes the gesture purely helpful instead of _adorable_.

Gladiolus _stares_. He’s had chocolates thrown at him before, flowers and his favourite candy, even a few cakes with ‘Will You Marry Me?’ written out in icing. Nobody’s ever given him _vegetables._

He slowly takes the box out of Ignis’ hands. He doesn’t miss the faint blush that stains Ignis’ cheeks, though it’s subtle. Gladiolus might be blushing too. He mutters, “Thanks.”

Ignis nods like he’s just doing his duty. He probably makes lunch for his employer all the time. He seems like an incredibly dedicated worker.

He’d probably be an even more dedicated boyfriend.

He’d probably look right at home bent over Gladiolus’ stove, or even better yet, bent over his bed.

Swallowing that image down, Gladiolus gives up and makes the leap. “Look, Ignis... if you’re concerned about me eating right... maybe you should come over sometime. You can cook me dinner.” 

There’s a long pause where they just look at each other. Gladiolus knows that wasn’t the best invitation, but it’s too late now. He thinks of randomly flexing again, because with anyone but Ignis Scientia, that would probably seal the deal.

Ignis slowly starts, “Perhaps...” His phone is ringing in his pocket. Gladiolus resists swearing. He clenches his teeth while Ignis withdraws it and flips through a text, before pocketing it again and finishing. “Alright. If your team wins tonight, I’ll come make you dinner.”

Gladiolus bites down a victorious smirk and settles for, “Yeah? Awesome.” But then: “Wait... what if we lose?”

Ignis is already turning to walk away. No doubt he’s been summoned, and he’s about to climb into his fancy black car and drive up the road and out of Gladiolus’ morning. But he says on his way, “In that case, you may buy _me_ dinner.” He even offers a thin smile that has Gladiolus’ heart beating a mile a minute. That’s what he should’ve said the first time.

He waves as Ignis trots down the beach, knowing that no matter what happens in blitzball, he’s going to be a winner.


End file.
